


Forever

by orphan_account



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Minimalism, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, bughead - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 21:53:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10840188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He doesn’t have to look up to know he’s irreparably damaged her, ripped Little Miss Perfect to shreds.He’s hurt her. He doesn’t care.She’s collapsed in against the swing-set, a heap of cashmere, pastels, dull golden hair. The tears have stopped, and it’s worse. So much worse.





	Forever

“Forever. You said forever”  
Tears cascade down her porcelain skin, cutting ravines from her eyes and dripping down onto her cardigan – her eyes are closed, trying to stop the flow of tears and her mouth is twisted. Blood openly flows from crescents in her palm, dry and overly-sanitised skin pulled tight in clenched fists.

He sighs, a deep defeated sound, resignation filling the air in frosted cloud. It’s the only sound, apart from her attempting to slow her shaky inhalations – hr readies himself to say what he’s been rehearsing endlessly in his head.

“I know. I know but I-“he cuts himself off, a shaky hand carding through his fringe. “I’ve tried. I really have. I just… I just can’t”

He doesn't hear a gasp or an increase in the sobs. He doesn't expect to. She was smart enough to know this was coming, even if she tried everything her pure little heart could think of to prevent it.

He doesn’t have to look up to know he’s irreparably damaged her, ripped Little Miss Perfect to shreds. Simple words, easy to say. He’s hurt her. He lives under the pretence that he doesn’t care, can't care.

She’s collapsed in against the swing-set, a heap of cashmere, pastels, dull golden hair. The tears have stopped, and it’s worse. So much worse. There are no sounds now – the hyperventilating has stopped, time has stopped, their hearts have stopped and it all feels Wrong. 

He’s reaching out to put a calloused hand on her shoulder, to comfort her and offer the familiar solace she so often craves, but she flinches, involuntarily. her whole petite frame flinching away, like his touch burns her.

Slowly standing up, she avoids eye contact, rubs underneath her puffy eyes, not cleaning but spreading the black tracks of mascara over her freckled cheeks. She offers a limp hand, eyes still on her good-girl kitten heels.

He’s not sure what to do, so he shakes it gingerly, wincing at the chapped feel, and the viscous red now staining his hand. He can see her shoulder, her collar bone, scratched raw and red. Another one of her many neuroses, he thinks, and a familiar shard of potent guilt pierces through him. He wants to plead, break and tell her it's all a joke, he still loves her, he doesn't wants to do this, that there is no other way-...

“Thank you for your time.” 

It’s tight-lipped, and overwhelmingly unnatural. Her words are ice, vapour in the cold air. The sentiment resonates within him, numbness and guilt mingling in a fatal brew. Placing her hand on his cheekbone, she stares into his eyes, caressing his face in a familiar sayonara before cautiously sliding the beanie off of his head.

"Please", she clutches the hat to her, " I need a memory of you". He doesn't have to consider, nodding, and she's on her way.

It’s fake, this was fake, her words are plastic – synthetic and fake. Her face is plastic, docile as she neatly slings her handbag over shoulder and deftly removers her heels. She turns, walks away, the stones and gravel of the park cutting up the soles of her feet.

He hates it, he hates her, he hates that she turns around and waves, a pathetic smile on her ruined face, a nod to what could have been, hates that the he toys with her but still loves her and that he won’t ever stop, hates the fact that he can hear her weep when she thinks she’s in the clear, unadulterated agony reverberating throughout the cold night sky, dissipating into nothingness in a symphony of paper thin mentalities.

He hates that he’s been forced to do this, cause more and more pain to both himself and her. He knows there will never be another. Forever, they had said, hazy summer promises branded into his very being. 

He doesn’t cry, doesn’t mourn, doesn’t drink - he's not his father. He sits in the park, time slow-moving and syrupy, his mind a cell, surrounded by her fairylights and promises of what was too be. She was too much, all too soon, and she was all his, in body, spirit and soul. 

He was cruel, and she deserved so much more. He would rip her from spring, ruin her and she would stand by him, love him while he completely devastated her.

**Author's Note:**

> HEY GUYS THAT WAS MY FIRST FANFIC EVER, - I'm sorry if I've damaged your eyes or brain after you have read that trash pile lol. I'm not sure if this is a oneshot or a multichap, so hmu n the comments with ya ideas n suggestions.
> 
> Have a great night/day/time loop.
> 
> (also tell me what i gotta do 2 improve - thank you bbs)


End file.
